“Are you saying it’s not a hotspot now? Where else are people going to go, the lodge?” I shake my head and hold up a hand when Threes starts to respond. I don’t want to get into it with him. I want to get a drink and relax a little. It’s been a long-ass day.
Inside the club, the DJ has the music up loud enough that conversation is nearly impossible without shouting, but no one seems to care. People writhe on the dance floor to the heavy electronic beat and the bartenders rush around to get everyone their drinks. The dance floor is only about half full of people, but the bar is busy with a crowd of barely twenty-one-year-old college students.
It's not the kind of crowd I’d prefer. I’d rather have patrons that buy expensive drinks and don’t cause a ruckus. College kids buy beer and shots, then puke all over the dance floor. When the club first opened, I’d hoped for a slightly more upscale vibe, but sometimes a venue takes on its own life, and I’ve gotten used to it. I haven’t spent enough time here lately, and I should probably make some rounds and mingle.
Later.
I settle into the luxurious, semicirclular VIP couch overlooking the bar and the dance area. I lean back and signal the bartender, Jude. He’s my third or fourth cousin or nephew or something like that—I’m not sure. The family resemblance is certainly there, but I could never figure out exactly how his mother was related to my father.
Jude gives me a quick nod, and a bottle of bourbon is brought to the table. I scan the club, not really paying attention to anyone in particular. I recognize a lot of regulars, most of whom give me some kind of wave or other greeting from afar. I return the meaningless gestures one by one, flashing each of them a proper smile. At least they’re still here, taking up most of the bar seats.
Two young women slide up to me, taking the spots on either side of me. I smile at them as I try to remember their names, but nothing comes to me. Oh well. They don’t seem to mind and immediately begin talking to each other. They’re just excited to be sitting in the VIP area, and I don’t mind pretty company that doesn’t actually want any kind of conversation.
The women are perfect examples of exactly what I don’t want in a wife—thin, beautiful, overly made up, and completely shallow. They sit next to me to be seen with me and have no idea who or what I am past the name.
How can I possibly find a marriage prospect in this town? There isn’t a person here who doesn’t know exactly who my family is, and most of them will have figured out that I’m the head of that family now. Though the local authorities will make sure Jack’s death is ruled an accident, speculation about it will run rampant. What woman with any kind of depth would choose this life?
This is why crime families marry each other. Maybe I should make a trip to Chicago or New York to look up some old friends. It’s not like I’d consider someone from the Ramsay family.
I glance around the club, nodding and smiling to patrons who wave in my direction. I look over at the bar where Jude is hustling around, taking care of the regulars that perch there most of the weekend.
The only people sitting at the bar that I don’t immediately recognize are a man and a woman, presumably on a date. She’s dressed nicely but not provocatively or overdone, a pretty green blouse that complements her reddish-blonde hair and a modest, knee-length skirt. He’s more casual in a T-shirt and jeans. What’s left of his dark hair is unkempt, but she clearly spent some time with hers. He leans toward her to speak over the music, but she leans back a little when he does. Her smile is fake, and I conclude that this is a first date, and it’s not going well for her.
“You should go talk to her.”
I startle slightly, not expecting my father to suddenly lean over my shoulder. I didn’t even know he was here.
“She’s with a date.”
“So what?”
“So, she’s busy.” I turn my head to stare him in the eye, not wanting to let him intimidate me here, of all places. “What are you even doing here, Dad? This isn’t your scene.”
“Checking up on you is my scene.”
“Not here. You hate this place.”
“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t like to make progress.”
“What kind of progress are you making tonight?”
“You’re attracted to her.” He nods over to the woman at the bar. “I’m here to push you to go get her.”
“She’s with a date, dammit.”
“It won’t last.”
He could be right about that. Her posture is stiff, but the guy continues to wave his hands around as he talks and laughs. She clearly isn’t enjoying herself, and her date is oblivious to the way she turns away from him, fiddles with her hair, and looks up at the television on the wall as he talks.
Maybe I should ask her to dance.
I check out the dance floor, which is full of those college kids writhing around and jumping to the strong bass. A few more join the dancing. The floor starts to fill up as I look back at the woman at the bar and take a sip of my bourbon. My father backs away as a few people come up to me offering their support in my new role, but I’m not in the mood to talk business.
“Mr. Orso, it’s good to see you. I wonder if you’ve considered
